


when you look at me

by Gremkt



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Carver thinks Alistair is v. handsome, Lighthearted Teasing, M/M, Masturbation, More Pining, Other, Pining, Pre-Relationship, and some yearning, pls just go talk to him Carver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt
Summary: When Alistair invites Carver to some hand to hand combat practice, no weapons involved, Carver doesn’t quite anticipate the feelings their practice will bring up. Specifically, the feelings of wanting Alistair close to him again, touching him in all kinds of different ways.
Relationships: Alistair/Carver Hawke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	when you look at me

“Ready?” Alistair asked.

Carver nodded, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

“Ready,” he said with a grin. He believed he was too, but it still took him by surprise when Alistair tackled him. Recovering quickly, he twisted away, free of Alistair’s grip. 

When they had agreed to practice more hand to hand combat, sparing without their weapons, Carver had secretly thought he had an advantage. As far as he could tell, he had spent more time practicing fighting without weapons than Alistair had. Plus, Alistair hadn’t grown up with a brother the way Carver had. Sometimes wrestling with Garrett had been intentional or planned, just for fun or for practice purposes, but sometimes… sometimes they’d just pissed each other off.

Carver had never seen Bethany look more like their mother than she did when she told them both off for fighting. 

He tried not to think about that as lunged for Alistair, grasping him around the waist as he tried to pull him down. They grappled, each trying to get the other to the ground first. The fight didn’t last long, Carver proving victorious as he forced Alistair into a position he wasn’t able to fight back. 

“I yield,” Alistair laughed as Carver held him down. “You win. Rematch?” 

The second fight ended almost as quickly, Alistair once again on his back as the few Wardens around them laughed. They didn’t officially have an audience, but the handful of people nearby had paused to see what they were up to. 

“Easy,” Carver said with a grin as he looked down at him. Alistair just poked his tongue out.

“Well, I guess everyone is good at something,” he joked. “We  _ were  _ starting to worry your self-esteem would be too low, what with everyone beating you in  _ everything _ all the time.” 

Carver just rolled his eyes. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said. “I beat you at plenty of things.” 

He tried not to think about the way his heart skipped at the cheeky grin Alistair gave him in response, looking up at Carver from where he lay beneath him.

“I guess I can give you another chance,” he said, releasing Alistair and stepping back. His voice was louder than he intended as he tried not to think about the feeling in his chest, something he tried to cover by adjusting his stance.

This time around, his fellow warden managed to take him by surprise, knocking Carver’s feet out from under him. While he tried to regain the upper hand, Alistair wasn’t having it. 

“Gotcha,” he said, one arm across Carver’s chest to hold him down. As Carver looked up at him, the sunlight caught Alistair’s short hair like a halo framing his face. It was almost as bright as his smile. 

He was suddenly incredibly aware of how Alistair felt above him, of all of the places Alistair’s body pressed against his own. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as he realised he hadn’t responded yet. 

“You got me,” he conceded. 

“Again?” Alistair asked and Carver nodded, hating the tiny surge of disappointment he felt when Alistair let him go, the weight of his arm lifting from Carver’s chest. 

One of the other wardens whistled as she wandered past. 

“You two having fun?” she called and Carver blushed, shooting a rude gesture in her direction. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Alistair called to her, reaching out an arm to help Carver back to his feet. His hand was warm, the calluses rough against Caver’s palm as he grasped it. “I can wrestle you later too if you want. Or, you can wrestle me to the ground perhaps, given the current outcome.”

Carver knew Alistair was free to do what he wanted but he couldn’t help feeling a little jealous at the idea of Alistair doing this with somebody else. He knew he had no claim to Alistair’s time but it made it feel more special to think Alistair wanted to practice specifically with him.

He tried to push those thoughts aside, not wanting more of the ugly jealousy to creep in. 

Thankfully Alistair’s next attempt took his mind off it, at least a little. With both men determined to best the other, the fight was the longest yet, Alistair nearly pinning Carver only for Carver to gain the upperhand and flip him over. His fellow warden didn’t let him take advantage of the position for long, twisting in his grasp. Carver wrapped a leg around him, trying to hold him still in his arms, to minimise his movements. 

Alistair struggled for a moment, going limp as he accepted his defeat. 

Carver grinned at him, triumphant, trying very hard once again to not think about how close his body was to Alistair’s. It was difficult - he was so warm, so solid underneath him. 

“You’re the champion,” Alistair conceded, “Clearly I never stood the slightest chance. I graciously accept your victory, Ser Hawke.”

“You’re an idiot,” Carver muttered, reluctantly sitting back, letting Alistair up off his back. Something fluttered in his chest at the joking nickname, though, and he did his best to push the feeling away again. He didn’t want to deal with that, not now. Not today. 

“Warden Idiot Theirin, at your service,” Alistair joked with an exaggerated bow. “Awaiting your orders, Ser Hawke.” 

Carver just rolled his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t laughing along with Alistair.

“Warden Theirin,” somebody called from across the camp and they both jumped, looking for the source of the voice.

“He means Warden Idiot,” Carver whispered as the other warden cleared the space between them, calling something about needing assistance elsewhere. Alistair approached him, the pair of them exchanging quick words as Carver looked on, trying not to look too obviously awkward. 

“I’ll have to return to seek my glorious victory another time,” Alistair said, returning and beginning to collect his things. “They need my help with whatever this new problem is. Never ends, does it? Just one Darkspawn after another after another. Haven’t they ever heard of a holiday?”

“You should try talking at them,” Carver said. “Maybe they’ll get sick of listening and stay in the Deep Roads for once.” 

Alistair pretended to ponder the idea. 

“An interesting idea for consideration,” he said. “I might need to practice talking somebody into utter madness before I try and take on a hurlock. I don’t suppose you’re free later?”

“Go fight your Darkspawn, Warden Idiot,” Carver told him, rolling his eyes again. “Come and get me if you need help.” 

“I will indeed, Ser Hawke,” Alistair told him with yet another exaggerated bow. “Thanks for the practice.” 

Carver watched him leave, hoping more than anything that maybe Alistair would find him later, to talk him into utter madness, or even just to talk at all.

  
* ~ *

The afternoon had been chaotic, the chaos lasting into the evening. It turned out the problem had been a small handful of Darkspawn finding a new entrance out of the Deep Roads. Thankfully the Wardens had found them quickly, the threat quickly neutralised, the opening closed and now monitored by another small group to ensure it remained that way. 

The fight itself had been easy, the skill of the Warden significantly higher than that of the Darkspawn despite their desperation. But the aftermath, disposing of the corpses lest they attract some particularly bold animals, cleaning their armour and bodies of blood and gore, ensuring the area was safe, all of that had taken longer. By the time the group involved had washed and eaten dinner, they were all exhausted, crawling into their respective tents, Carver included. 

But despite his weariness, sleep didn’t come for him. 

Instead, he kept thinking about the earlier bouts, the pretend fights with a much smaller potential impact and risk. The fights that Alistair had won, when Carver had been on his back, the other man looming over him.

He thought about how he had felt when Alistair’s arms held him still, his muscles strong against Carver’s side. How handsome Alistair had looked as he grinned down at him, watching him with those beautiful brown eyes, the freckles scattered across his nose like a constellation. How Alistair made his stomach flutter every time he looked at him. 

The flutter wasn’t just in his stomach now though and he twisted onto his side, trying to ignore the growing ache between his legs as he thought about Alistair. 

He imagined Alistair leaning down to kiss him, still above him, his weight laying more heavily across Carver’s chest, pinning him down with more than just an arm, imagined Alistair’s lips soft as they moved against his. He imagined how Alistair would taste against his mouth, how he liked to kiss, what it would be  _ like  _ to kiss him.

Would Alistair enjoy being gentle? Or would he be rough? 

Carver squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about Alistair, not again, not like he’d been doing so often lately.

But then, even with all of the thinking he  _ had  _ been doing, this was new. 

And despite his best efforts, the thoughts persisted. 

In his mind, Alistair’s kiss grew more passionate, his hands cupping Carver’s cheeks, tangling in his hair, teeth nipping at Carver’s lips. He imagined Alistair lifting his shirt, pulling it over his head, throwing it to the side, his mouth returning to Carver’s bare chest, exploring. 

Carver swallowed, trying to force away the sudden dryness in his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to stop the thoughts that refused to leave him alone. 

They had been swimming a few days ago, Alistair and some of the other wardens stripping down to their smalls to enjoy the cool water. As much as Carver had tried not to watch, his eyes had continued to drift over to Alistair, taking in his chest, his arms, his stomach, the skin marred with scattered marks and scars, evidence of his life and the time spent in battle.

Carver had more than enough of those marks himself. 

He wondered if Alistair had noticed, had wanted to learn more about the history written on Carver’s skin the same way he had with Alistair’s. 

The Alistair with him now had, the one in his mind, tracing scars, freckles, tattoos with his lips, his tongue, his hands. Carver clenched his fists, trying to ignore that he was definitely hard now, at the idea of Alistair, of Alistair being here with him now, touching him in all of the places he wanted to be touched. 

He knew he should try to think about something else. Darkspawn, his fellow wardens, Garrett, something to distract him. Even  _ somebody _ else, one of the other beautiful men or women he’d encountered in his life. 

But instead Alistair remained in his thoughts, as he imagined their positions reversed, that Alistair was the one on his back as Carver did his best to learn every inch of his chest, memorise all of the marks he found there. 

Maybe he could pin Alistair’s arms above his head, hold him still as Alistair whispered ‘I yield’ in an entirely different tone of voice to the one he had used earlier, as Carver’s mouth worked on his neck.

Carver groaned, his hand rubbing over the bulge at his crotch as he rolled onto his back again.

He imagined his teeth against Alistair’s skin, wondered how Alistair would react to that. Would Alistair like that? Would he let Carver do it? Would he prefer to be the one with his teeth out, his mouth against Carver’s neck?

Carver’s hand slipped under the waist of his pants, fingers wrapping around himself at the idea. His breath hitched as he imagined somebody else’s fingers, Alistair’s fingers, in place of his own. 

In this situation, how would Alistair move his hand? Would it be fast or slow? Would he watch his hand as it moved or would his eyes be fixed on Carver’s face instead, watching, waiting for his reactions?

The idea of Alistair watching him as he pleasured himself, watching as Alistair pleasured him, made his breath catch, his hips twitching forward, a small unintended moan escaping his lips. He was used to being quiet, a habit formed from all the time spent bunking with fellow soldiers, with his brother in the small house in Kirkwall. 

Knowing he should stop, knowing he wasn’t going to, he pulled himself properly free of his loose pants, his hand moving in a steady rhythm, still imagining Alistair’s hand with him. If Alistair was here, Carver could reach for him too, could try and make Alistair feel the way he did now. 

He didn’t know what he wanted more, Alistair above him, making him forget everything but how he made him feel, or Alistair beneath him as Carver made him an incoherent mess, to have their fingers twined together, wrapped around Carver, around Alistair, reaching for each other. The ideas mixed together in his mind, swirling, jumping from fantasy to fantasy, not needing to pick something specific to focus on as he pushed himself closer and closer to his peak.

All that mattered was the idea of Alistair.

He wondered what Alistair sounded like when he came, what noises he made, and it was that thought that pushed him over the edge, spilling over his hand, his stomach, imagining the other man doing the same. He took a moment to catch his breath, releasing himself to rest his hand on his stomach. The space around him suddenly felt too big, making him feel more alone than ever. 

Would Alistair care if he knew what Carver had done? Would he be bothered? Pleased?

Had he ever thought of Carver in the same way? 

The spend splattered across his stomach cooled against his skin as he lay, lost in his thoughts. He sighed, reaching for some kind of cloth to clean himself up, knowing he would regret it if he didn’t. 

There was no way he’d be able to pretend, even just to himself, that he didn’t want Alistair, even more now than ever. But maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, he might be able to convince himself the desire was purely physical. 

But as he thought about Alistair’s laugh, Alistair’s smile, the twinkle in his eyes as he looked at Carver and the way Carver’s stomach felt like it was full of butterflies every time he did… 

Carver sighed, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest, trying to push Alistair out of his thoughts as he lay alone, trying to drift into the sleep that had already evaded him. 

The next time Alistair suggested they spar, he’d suggest they use weapons instead of doing it hand to hand, try and minimise the feelings that had caused this in the first place. 

But then again, maybe he could take advantage of having a reason to be that close to Alistair once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [hawkish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeish/works) for encouraging me and enabling me to post this ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> I still have... a lot of Carver/Alistair thoughts. I think my brain’s going to continue to belong to them for a while. As always, [feel free to come and yell with and/or at me on tumblr](http://kirkwallgremlin.tumblr.com), about them or anything else 💜
> 
> Title is from the song Extraordinary Life by Gordie. The full line is “when you look at me the weight of how I feel falls heavy on me” but that’s a bit long for a title 😅 its a song I normally associate with my Lavellan/Morrigan but it felt like it fit the pining vibe 🥰


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